There are unwritten rules of etiquette for a Vice President's wife that correspond roughly to the antebellum definition of a lady: her name should appear in the papers only on the occasion of her marriage or death. Barbara Bush adapted well: she did good works quietly and kept out of the public eye. Marilyn Quayle is already hard at work following in Mrs. Bush's footsteps. But the outspoken and confident lawyer turned housewife may have a tougher time keeping a low profile. Marilyn Tucker Quayle is anything but self-effacing.
She asserted herself almost immediately after Dan Quayle was nominated, telling reporters that when her husband first ran for Congress in Indiana, "I made all the decisions." The cool, appraising look she cast on Quayle when he spoke, and the sharp tugs on his sleeve when she wanted him to stop, gave her away as first among her husband's handlers. Bush aides quickly learned that behind her demure shirtwaist dresses and her trademark Mary Tyler Moore flip hairdo there was a strong-minded, intelligent woman who wished to be viewed as Quayle's "senior adviser."
In mid-September Marilyn wanted to accompany Quayle on a tour of NORAD, the high-security Air Force installation in Colorado. His handlers, who had planned to use the event to underscore Quayle's readiness to become Commander in Chief, argued that he would be undercut by having his wife tag along. Marilyn stood firm about going, until Quayle interceded and eventually persuaded her to visit a Colorado Springs day-care center instead.
Marilyn, 39, is made of sterner stuff than her playful, easygoing husband. Both her parents were doctors; she was the fourth of six children, brought up in a strict Christian household in Indianapolis. The Tuckers became followers of a conservative Fundamentalist preacher, "Colonel" Robert B. Thieme Jr., and Marilyn grew up listening to Thieme's tapes. She has dissociated herself from Thieme's more reactionary social teachings, but defends his biblical teachings.
A model student, Marilyn was "always real popular," according to classmate Kathy Hyde Parker, "but never with the bad kids." Her self-styled feminism was awakened early: she wanted to play basketball in high school but balked at the half-court games girls then had to play. At Purdue she ran for freshman-class treasurer and formed the Pep Girls, a pom-pom cheerleader squad that she directed with no nonsense. "At our meetings we didn't horse around," says former Pep Girl Barbara Little.
Marilyn met Quayle at Indiana University law school and married him ten weeks later. They sat together in the front row in tax lectures; it was Marilyn who spoke up frequently and sought out the professor after class. She was due to deliver her first child on the day of the bar exam, and had labor induced early so she could take the test. The young couple hung out a law shingle together above the family newspaper office in Huntington, but Marilyn ran the practice. A Huntington friend, Sandy Cook, says Marilyn was the first "superwoman" in her set, expertly balancing career and family, even baking bread.